


A thing of beauty

by Ukki



Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kids Being Sappy, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, i guess, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukki/pseuds/Ukki
Summary: Soccer might just be the best thing since sliced bread and snowboard boots. The thing is, watching his team mates getting their asses handed back to them by a bunch of aliens on a nearly daily basis and being too emotionally paralysed to do anything to help them isn't exactly easing the way Shirou feels like an utter waste of space.





	A thing of beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this was my very first OTP! These two don't get nearly enough recognition.  
> The setting might be a little confusing at times so, just to make things clear: the first, second and third section take place between Terumi showing up during that one match against Diamond Dust, and Chaos ripping him a new one (that is, episodes 54-58); the fourth is some time before the beginning of season 3; the last two are during and after the match against Fire Dragon (episodes 82-85).  
> Hope you enjoy!

With how things have been going lately, Shirou has very little going for him but beauty. Between all the self-deprecation and the voices in his head suggesting the wrong twin might have survived the avalanche, the brief flutter he gets in his heart whenever he sees something _beautiful_ is the only reminder that he is not entirely dead inside.

When it all comes down to it, Shirou is now living for the delicate glistening of dew on grass blades in the early morning, and the vast blaze of sunsets, hoping the immensity of it is overwhelming enough to drown out the stinging whispers in the far corners of his mind.

His therapist (whom Hitomiko has been demanding he see since his little nervous meltdown back in Okinawa, _oh boy_ ) thinks watching as much beautiful stuff as he can might be of some help. Like soccer, she said once, grinning like she had just unlocked the darkest deepest secrets of reality itself. He likes soccer, doesn't he?  
Shirou _adores_ soccer. Soccer might just be the best thing since sliced bread and snowboard boots. The thing is, watching his team mates getting their asses handed back to them by a bunch of aliens on a nearly daily basis and being too emotionally paralysed to do anything to help them isn't exactly easing the way Shirou feels like an utter waste of space.

He is only mildly taken aback when Aphrodi descends from the sky like the Messiah reincarnated while they're in the middle of having Diamond Dust rip them a new one. He has seen his fair share of people bending the laws of physics to their advantage. That's kind of their thing.

Shirou remembers seeing the guy on the CTR telly in the locker rooms during the last Football Frontier. He also remembers the scandal that followed with Kageyama Reiji and all that nasty doping business. He can appreciate Aphrodi having the guts to show his face on the field again – it might have something to do with how frankly attractive Aphrodi's face is, he realises with that familiar flutter in his heart.

Back on the field, Aphrodi's asking, with unmatched nerve, to be made part of the team. The stage gasp that follows has Shirou convinced that Aphrodi is about to be maimed there and then, and by none other than the excellent members of Raimon itself, defenders of the Earth and saviours of mankind.

Except Endou, being the good-hearted, trusting fool that he is, extends him a merciful hand and saves him from public execution.

Which is how Aphrodi is given a chance and a uniform, and damn, does he look fine wearing actual clothes instead of whatever that thing from Zeus was. Except a yellow tee and the captain's blessing don't seem to be enough for the rest of the team, and Aphrodi spends the next five minutes having his existence being blithely ignored and looking only moderately awkward while he's at it. Shirou thinks he might drop dead any moment from second-hand embarrassment alone.

"What's up with them?" he wonders out loud, because whatever hideous crime Aphrodi may have committed that made him deserving of such public scorn, Shirou reckons there's a little too much at stake _right now_ to be petty. Like, huh, the future of the planet.

"He pelted the captain with footballs," dead-pans Megane helpfully.

_Oh._ Shirou might have removed that teeny detail due to the fact that pelting Endou with footballs appears to be a constant for every overpowered adversary they meet. He's starting to suspect they think it's some sort of entry test. If you want to be recognised as a menace you have to hit the goalkeeper until he can't stand. Unstoppable force versus unmovable object.

He doesn't know what it says about him that he wishes he could have been there to see that. What an outrageously beautiful monster Aphrodi must have been, going all out.

Then Tsunami, bless his heart, realises he has no reason to personally dislike Aphrodi, and does the subsequent sensible thing - that is, actually passing him the ball so they can finally try and score some of those sweet, sweet goals. Does Aphrodi have that angel aesthetic on point. He is also one hell of a show-off, but Shirou was expecting nothing less.

By now he can feel his blood pumping in and out from all of his teeth. His entire face feels eerily warm, which means he might be flushing a little bit, which is not what he would call ideal. One of the endless downsides of albinism (right after the sun being an actual deadly laser) is everybody will know right off the bat if he gets worked up.

The perk is otakus and emos think he's cool. If they only knew. Shirou has ninety-nine problems, and an incoming unlikely crush might be one of them.

  


Apparently, the heinous love child of fire and ice is a new undiscovered level of ass-kicking capacity. Shirou really wishes Diamond Dust and Prominence had kept jumping down each other's throats for another forty-five minutes. Between the two parties the third gains, right?

Not when the two parties find a common enemy, Shirou muses, following with his eyes the parable Gouenji traces in the air as he's sent flying across the field. He feels like absolute shit right now.

Realistically, he's positive this is pretty much hopeless. If _Gouenji_ is having trouble dealing with it, their wonder shooter tall-dark-and-handsome larger-than-life man-beast, the rest of them might just give up and go home. Raimon ain't getting past that defence today. Shirou is feeling way too blue to put much trust in the genuine love for soccer, the power of friendship, or whatever motivational crap Endou starts spouting when things get tough.

The field goes uncharacteristically quiet for a second, and _oh god_ Aphrodi is volunteering to be annihilated. Shirou suspects he might have a death wish. He _must_ have a death wish. That is so foolhardy Shirou might as well drop the _hardy_ part and start calling Aphrodi out on being a damn fool.

Then Aphrodi smiles at him. Not the sparkling, handsome smile-for-the-camera grin he usually wears. Actual, genuine smile with a little tilt of his head, pristine golden strands of hair slipping from behind his shoulder and something goes all mushy and gooey where Shirou's stomach was last time he got it checked.

Shirou realises two things more or less at the same time. One, he's got it _bad_. Two, either Aphrodi has a masochistic streak a mile wide, or he actually likes him back, as unlikely as that sounds to Shirou's own befuddled mind.

Shirou is pretty. Enough people have given him the eye for him to know that. But really, with Aphrodi looking the way he does, which is like an actual budding model, and his own crumbling mental health, he is not feeling at his most desirable.

Then the shit hits the fan and Shirou is wincing in sympathetic pain as Aphrodi is sent reeling over and over again, and he wishes he'd just _stop_. Through the whole ordeal, Aphrodi somehow manages to look like a wounded angel crashing tragically to the ground. It's beautiful. It's unfair.

Shirou almost sighs in relief when Gran finally shows up. He had thought he'd never be happy to see him of all people, ever, in his life. Shirou's entire body still hurts whenever he remembers the time he had the brilliant idea to catch one of Gran's hissatsu's with his face. He stands corrected.

Gran is all cold, disapproving rage, with a side of suspicious pleasantries aimed in Endou's general direction. It chills Shirou's blood into a million tiny ice shards. Then they're all gone in a flash and Shirou doesn't even have time to wonder what will be of Burn and Gazel before Aphrodi hits the ground with a graceless thud.

In the split second before the panicked crowd hides him from his sight, Shirou manages to get a glimpse of his face. It's not that of a radiant demigod any more. It's muddy and scratched and pained, and every bit the face of a kid who munched on more than he could chew. Shirou's heart races with something raw.

He stands in the middle of the field, swallowing around the painful lump in his throat.

  


The evening is chilly when Shirou steps into the hospital's parking lot. Mainland-chilly, not Hokkaido-chilly. Hokkaido-chilly would entail infinitely more frostbite and wandering bears. He clutches at his (Atsuya's) scarf, more for emotional support than for warmth. Not that it has been working that greatly, in the light of recent events.

He wonders if he's being too overt and decides he's not. Checking on somebody who nearly sacrificed themselves for your sake only seems the very basics of human decency. Actually, scratch the nearly. They had to call an ambulance because Aphrodi couldn't stand on his own two legs. And sure, there was the whole Earth-saving business going on, but Aphrodi smiled at him, Shirou isn't seeing things. Or rather, he _has_ been seeing things, but they weren't beautiful boys miles out of his league looking fondly in his direction.

By the time he has made up his mind, he's standing in front of the acceptance desk and the young man behind the counter is looking quizzically at him and he realises he has _no idea_ what Aphrodi's actual name is.

Thankfully, they're celebrities. The man takes a look at his uniform and a light bulb all but materializes in the space above his head. "You here for Afuro Terumi?" he asks, "Blond kid? From Raimon?"

Shirou nods for an unnecessarily long time. Terumi sounds like such a mellow name. Shirou likes it.

The man is still talking. Shirou has no idea what he's saying. He catches "team mate" and "outside". He says thank you and heads in what is hopefully the right direction.

He should have brought flowers, he thinks. Aphrodi (Afuro? Is he even allowed to call him that yet?) looks like he likes flowers.

He ambles around the wards for a good ten minutes, debating how embarrassing it would be to go back to the guy at acceptance and ask him to repeat his directions, before he spots them in the hospital's yard. Aphrodi is leaning on Endou's shoulder for support. Something chilly and nasty unfurls itself in the pit of Shirou's stomach. Then he remembers how much of a good sport (pun intended) Endou is. He's probably doing this out of the kindness of his heart. They have never deserved Endou.

Shirou steps into the yard. His heart is pounding in his ribcage like it's fully intending to burst out of it and make an unsightly mess. He is vaguely aware Someoka might be somewhere around here, watching him make an absolute fool of himself with a pretty boy.

Afuro manages to make hospital clothes look somewhat stylish. He's battered and bruised, but he's sitting with his back so straight he looks like he's posing for a picture.

Shirou stands in front of him for an awkwardly long moment. He had thought Afuro's eyes were russet red, but they're warm chestnut in the soft light of the setting sun.

He breathes in as the silence stretches, "You're incredible", he says, his voice a hundred times cooler than he feels, and leaves as soon as he sees the corners of Afuro's mouth twitch upwards.

He doesn't know if he's doing it to play at least the slightest bit hard to get or because he doesn't trust himself not to say stuff he might regret later.

  


Shirou feels giddy with life. He still thinks of Atsuya when things get quiet. He doesn't reckon that will ever change – he doesn't want it to, either. Atsuya has finally moved on to that better place they keep advertising, and it's nice to be able to think that he loves his brother without it sending a thousand little pinpricks into his heart. Shirou is doing just fine.

It's a chilly day even by Hokkaido's standards when Afuro shows up at Hakuren, unannounced and under-dressed. He's wearing a pair of ridiculous earmuffs that do about nothing against the unyielding cold and his cheeks look very red. Shirou doesn't think he has ever looked better.

He pulls him inside before Afuro can do or say much, which is not particularly good etiquette, but in Shirou's book letting your crush freeze to death on your threshold is infinitely worse. Afuro laughs out loud as he's ushered inside, an unattractive, wonderful breathless laugh, and at some point Shirou realises he's started laughing along. He has been doing that a lot lately. It's possibly the best habit he has ever picked.

"What is this all about?" he asks, gesturing to Afuro's entire persona. "The outfit, I mean. Well, you too, actually."

Afuro keeps wheezing his outrageous laugh. "It's not my fault that it's cold as balls up here. I literally did not own anything warmer. I'm wearing, like, between three and five sweaters right now. Totally threw off my look." When he looks at Shirou, his eyes are fond. "I didn't get a chance to congratulate you guys about the whole Aliea thing. You did great."

Shirou might be projecting, but he feels like the last part might be meant for him specifically.

"I never got to thank you for your help, either," he says, and suddenly, at the worst time possible, he realises _the_ Afuro Terumi is in his school, and whatever standard of suaveness he has been upholding this far, he won't be able to keep it up now.

There goes the blush creeping up his face.

Shirou urges his brain to think fast as the odds of him _not_ doing something grossly embarrassing for everyone involved dwindle, and his brain leaves him on read. Shirou's brain has indeed been known to be a treacherous dick.

Shirou focuses on reminding himself how to breathe properly and analysing every nook in the wooden planks of the floor.

He counts six or seven (basic arithmetic seems to elude him as of now) before Afuro clears his throat, not unkindly, and Shirou looks up to find him close enough that he can see the faint shadow his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones. It also occurs to him that Afuro must be wearing dark mascara. He files that knowledge away for a later time.

Afuro's cheeks are still looking very red, and it takes Shirou a second too long to register that they are not supposed to do that, now that he has been safely removed from the blizzard outside.

"I was wondering," Afuro starts, eyes darting from Shirou's face to whatever point in the room is _not_ Shirou's face, "if you would like to hang out sometimes? You. With me?" He grabs his own hair as he trails off and tugs hard.

Shirou blinks up at him. His brain processes the information sluggishly. Then it all but short-circuits, with a sad tiny wisp of metaphorical smoke.

When he finally opens his mouth what comes out of it is: "You needed to come this far to ask me that?".

God must be dead, because He doesn't pulverise Shirou on the spot.

  


Terumi's face is pressed in concern as he steps into the stuffy bathroom. He does not look like someone who was bragging about his perfect tactic on national television not ten minutes earlier.

Shirou carefully smooths the pained creases out of his brow and clutches at the edge of the basin so he won't put too much strain on his sore ankle. He hopes Terumi somehow misses his ministrations. He doesn't.

"I'm so sorry," Terumi breathes, moving a tentative step towards him and then bolting backwards again like he's bounced against a magnetic field all around Shirou.

Shirou lets go of the basin (blowing the air out his nose as his ankle throbs dully at him) and opens his arms. Terumi slides into his embrace with a grateful, defeated sigh.

Shirou takes a few moments to just run his fingers soothingly through Terumi's hair, which in Shirou's book counts as a nearly mystical experience. Terumi's holding him tight enough that Shirou suspects he's trying to lift him off the ground.

"I'll kick your ass if you hurt your back," he chides, and Terumi laughs wetly against his shoulder.

"You didn't do anything wrong, okay? The ref didn't even give you guys a yellow," Shirou says, softer, stroking Terumi's warm nape. "We both knew we could have gotten hurt, okay?" Which shouldn't be a controversial statement, both of them and most of their common acquaintances having been sent to the hospital in at least one occasion after pulling a particularly unfortunate stunt.

"What you do now is go back there and give it your best, capiche? It's no fun to wipe the floor with you if you don't put up a fight of some sort."

Shirou counts it as a personal victory when laughter finally bubbles out of Terumi's chest. Terumi holds him at arm's length, dazzling teen-idol aura slowly kindling itself back to life, and grins stupidly down at him like he has never seen anything quite like him before. Then he smashes their mouths together hard enough that Shirou's braces cut into his mouth like the army of little minions of Satan that they are.

"Ouch, ouch" he says into Terumi's mouth, which might admittedly not be the most brilliant idea he has ever had, because their teeth knock together and Terumi's wincing as well and frankly, it's a bit of a sorry mess.

Terumi is still looking a little exhilarated when he withdraws – it is a becoming look on him. He snickers softly to himself, unfocused gaze hovering on Shirou's face, then something comes over him that makes his eyes go very wide. Shirou worries he might be having a stroke.

"Are you okay?"

Terumi cuts him off, panicky and excited like a 5-year-old at his kindergarten school play where he plays a bush. "I think I'm in love with you," he whispers, like he's still too startled himself to say it out loud.

Shirou had thought he had this whole thing figured out when he came to terms with the fact that Terumi asking him out was neither some sick joke nor his brain playing cruel tricks on him. He had assumed he was done being flustered after witnessing the entire array of Terumi's sappy dorkery galore first-hand. He had, apparently, been embarrassingly wrong, oh boy.

"Fuck," he says under his breath, which may not quite rank among the top three list of the best things to say after someone has professed their love to you, but Terumi is a good enough sport and a tight enough bundle of nerves that he actually barks a gunshot laugh at that. "Terumi. Me too."

Shirou is by no means afraid of loving. He loves his dumb team mates from Hakuren and his even dumber team mates from Inazuma Japan. He loves the support staff, bless their hearts. He loves Terumi so much the strength of it feels like a punch to the stomach.

It's just, most of the time loving them is little more than a comforting, warm awareness in his gut, rather than something he has to actually put into words, and angsty as it sounds, Shirou doesn't recall telling anyone that he loved them after his parents and Atsuya and his life pretty much falling in shambles, and that might take some more mulling on his part before he gets quite over it.

Somehow Terumi, who is way more perceptive than he is given credit for, must get at least some of this. He rests a comforting hand on the side of Shirou's neck and leans in to plant a loud kiss on his cheek. Shirou feels too mushy to even laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it.

He squeezes Terumi's face and feels a dumb smile tugging at his lips. Terumi's slightly squished features might just be the most gorgeous thing he has ever seen. Shirou shoos him off before he gets sappy enough that he'll regret it later when his brain comes back from its trip in Boyfriend Funland.

There's a polite cough from one of the bathroom stalls and Shirou is suddenly very aware of Gouenji taking a piss in it. That's one more person Shirou will die without looking in the face ever again.

  


Shirou learns the meaning of _unnerving_ the day he has to push his way back from an airport gatehouse while limping on a crutch. One might have thought facing self-professed aliens _and_ your own mental illness would have prepared you for everything, but turns out there really is nothing like the sweet claustrophobic feeling of always being about to trip into some passer-by.

It takes him long enough to get back to arrivals that when he finally does, Terumi is waiting restlessly in his seat, looking a little alarmed. The naked white light from above casts unflattering shadows on his face. Shirou wants to buy him a large bowl of ice-cream.

When Terumi spots him, and predictably reacts like he has just come back on leave after eight months spent in the army, because Terumi is _that_ uncool, it's not only to humour him that Shirou responds in kind. It's just, with the sight of his team of misfits all boarding that fantastic eyesore of a plane without him still hanging heavily in his heart, he really craves some much needed snuggle time.

Terumi never seemed to have gotten the memo that between the two of them he is the taller person by a good few inches. Shirou doesn't know if he has only ever hugged people who were even taller than him for his entire life, or if he is just hopelessly bad at it, but his arms snake under Shirou's and he is apparently unaware of the awkwardness of it. Shirou, who has almost religious views about not raining on his parade, lets him rest his head on the crook of his neck and just focuses on not eating Terumi's hair and keeping his crutch where it won't jut into any of their stomachs.

Some passers-by eye them curiously, because they look like fools.

"Want to get ice-cream, love?" Shirou asks. He grins at the dwindling shape of the jet behind the large glass panels, the sharp little pain that comes with it dulled by the ever-spreading warmth inside of him.

It's beautiful.

 


End file.
